Breath of Heaven (14 page)

H
e did not know what was expected of him. Rhys sat in the chair by the fire and stared at the flames as he sipped the wine left by the maid. The food was untouched. He had no appetite for food. He hungered for something else. It was his wedding night and he was painfully alone, except for his throbbing cock, a constant reminder of his unsatisfied state

His thoughts were jumbled. Should he go to Eliane? Comfort her as her father died? Wasn’t that his duty as her husband? Or should he leave them in peace? After all, he was practically a stranger to them. If Edward had wanted him there, would he not have asked for him also? Or was he so far gone that the only name he could speak was his daughter’s?

What of Eliane? Should he wait until she sent for him? Would she send for him? How long did it take for a man to die? A man who had already been dying for years?

The keep was quiet. Unnaturally so. He knew the revelers from the wedding most likely slept where they’d fallen in the great hall below, snoring amongst the rushes and the hounds. The two squires, Mathias and William, were asleep in his former chamber across the hall. The servants had to be exhausted from their labors and deep in slumber. The only people who could possibly be awake at this late hour were those
who watched for Edward’s last breath. Eliane, Cedric, and certainly Father Timothy. Were Madwyn and Han there also?

What was their relationship to Eliane? Were they related by blood as their ears suggested? They were people of the forest as Eliane’s ancestors were. They spoke a common language that was unlike anything he had ever heard before. What did it have to do with the secrets of Aubregate and the rumored treasure? What exactly had he gotten himself into with this hastily conceived marriage?

Rhys’s frustration became unbearable. He needed to do something, anything, to relieve it, yet he felt trapped, by the walls, by the weather and the circumstances.
By the marriage?

She was so beautiful. So innocent, yet knowing. The way she’d responded, the way she’d moved, betrayed a great passion waiting to be revealed. He’d been so close to claiming her. So close to losing himself inside her.

How long had she been gone? How long until she returned?

He could sit no longer, so he got up and moved about the chamber. Everywhere he looked, he saw Eliane, especially when his eyes fell upon the bed. The posts were carved to look like tree trunks and the canopy and the drapes were shades of green, as if one were looking upward at the leaves. It called to mind the first time he’d seen her, standing over him in the forest, with her bow notched and ready.

On the wall between the window and fireplace hung a tapestry of exquisite craftsmanship. It showed a glade with a stream running through it and a stone portal
beyond. There was a snowy white unicorn with a foal at her side. Both drank from a stream that was shot with silver thread as if to indicate the purity of the water. The portal caught his attention and he could not help wondering where it led. The dim light of the fire did nothing to show what lay beyond.

Tiring of questions that had no answers, Rhys moved to the window. The rain that had come with their wedding was now sleet. It covered everything with a sheen of ice. Only the torches beneath the overhangs still burned and they gave but a weak light. Anyone who went out in this weather would have to be mad. Or desperate. Renauld was out there, traveling this way, in hopes of getting his hands on Eliane. But he could not travel in this mess. Or would he? Was he desperate enough? Surely he’d taken shelter at his own estate. Was the ice enough to keep him away? There were no answers to be had by staring into the darkness, so he turned away from the window and once more saw the bed.

Rhys closed his eyes and saw her as she’d been, beneath him, staring up at him with those emerald eyes full of wonder and surprise. He’d been determined to show her, to seduce her, to make her want him with the same longing he’d felt since the first time he saw her. If Edward could have waited a few more moments, it would be done. But would a few moments have been enough to get his fill of her?

He took another drink of the wine and cursed himself for a fool.
You are crying like a lovesick troubadour.

Mine. She will be mine.
With a snarl, he flung the wine away and watched it crash against the stone of the wall. He was tired of waiting. Tired of wanting.

A sound broke the silence as what was left of the wine trickled down the wall into a puddle. It was a mournful, deep tone that seemed to shake the stones around him. It sounded as if a large and powerful creature was in deep pain. Rhys had never heard anything like it. The sound faded away into the distance, but its echo remained. He turned to the window again and looked upward. Fat snowflakes now mingled with the sleet. The sound came again, and he realized it must be some type of horn, but he could not imagine what it was. If he had been in the forest, he would have said it was mystical, but here in the keep it was haunting. Whoever was making the noise was in the tower above him.

Edward is gone.
Rhys found his chausses and pulled them on, yanking the cross garters into place with frustration. Had he become so lazy that he needed Mathias to tie them for him? He grabbed up his linen chainse and threw it on, leaving the ties undone. He jerked on his boots and left the chamber. The noise sounded again as he stepped into the hall. Voices sounded from below, sleepy, disgruntled, confused, and then a keening wail from a woman.
Edward.

William opened the door, clad only in his chausses, his hair on end, and his eyes red and swollen. “Where is Mathias?” Rhys asked.

“Here.” William moved so Rhys could see Mathias, flat on his back in the bed, still fully dressed and snoring to high heaven. “He is drunk,” William added.

I will surely beat him later.
“Leave him,” Rhys command. “He would be worthless anyway. You can serve in his stead.”

“What has happened?” William moved to get his chainse and boots.

“Edward is gone.” He took the winding staircase down, two steps at a time. The door to Edward’s chambers was open. A sheet covered the frail form on the bed. Cedric sat in a chair, his head in his hands, and Eliane…

She stood before the window, looking out at the driving snow. Her hair tumbled down her back in a mass of tangles to her hips. Tangles he had made in his passion. Tangles she had not taken the time to comb out in her haste to be by her father’s side. Her arms were folded about her and he could see the ring he’d given her on her finger as she clutched her upper arms as if she were chilled. The dog was by her side and leaned into her, butting her arm with his nose as if he could offer comfort. She dropped her hand to touch him and twined her fingers into the hair of his neck.

Rhys came up behind her and the dog rumbled deep in its throat without turning its head to look at him.
So we are to be at war, you and me.
He stared at the dog until the beast dipped its head, acknowledging that
this
time, Rhys had won the battle. Both knew they were still at war.

Eliane turned. Her cheeks were stained with tears, her eyes swollen, and the tip of her nose quite red. He did not know what to do. He’d made it a habit to avoid women when tears were involved. It usually meant they wanted him to stay when he wanted to go. He always walked away, not letting the tears trap him into foolish words that would later haunt him. Words and tears were ready weapons in a woman’s arsenal. Weapons that a wise man avoided at all costs.

“He’s gone.” Her words were simple, yet spoke volumes.

Rhys flexed his hands, placed them on her upper arms. Stepped closer to her. “I’m sorry.” Was that enough? Should he say more? Should he say that he too would mourn for the only man who ever gave a damn about him? How could he compare his grief to hers? Edward was everything to her. Rhys had no knowledge of what it was to feel something so strong for anyone.

Her teeth worried her lower lip as she looked at him, her eyes moist and as deep as the sea. She nodded her head, up, down, agreeing with whatever it was he said; he could not remember after looking into her eyes. Very slowly, she lowered her head and tentatively placed it upon his shoulder. She stepped to him and put her hands upon the skin of his chest where his chainse was open. His arms seemed to fold around her of their own accord and he rested his chin on top of her head as she found what peace there was to be had in his embrace. Were there words he should speak? Words of comfort that would be meaningless against the tide of grief she felt. She seemed content without the words, so he held her and hoped that his still throbbing cock would not chase her away.

Whatever passed between them in that moment was short-lived. Han rushed into the chamber. He was once more dressed in his usual garb, and his woolen cap was covered with ice. Had it been he who blew the mournful horn? Madwyn came behind him. She too had changed out of her wedding finery.

“Visitors approach,” Han said. “Vannoy.” He spat out the name.

“How can you be sure?” Rhys asked. Eliane moved away from him, her face pale with worry. She once
more twisted her fingers into the hair of the dog’s neck. The dog stood at attention, watching the faces around him, as if he could read their intent.

“He knows, believe me,” Madwyn said. “Han can see things. Further and deeper than most.”

“He hopes to stop the wedding,” Han said. “He has no way of knowing it has already occurred.”

“He cannot stop it! We are wed. The papers are signed.” Eliane’s voice was panicked and she looked between the three of them for some sign of agreement.

“Not all is complete,” Madwyn said. “You must be bedded before it is binding.”

“Wha…what?”

“The wedding is not complete until I bed you.” Rhys saw her fear. Was it of him? Before, she had seemed willing. Most willing. “Our marriage can be put aside without it.” He looked at Han. It was the first time he’d seen him other than calm. “How long before they arrive”

“Not long. I had the gates closed. He is on
your
king’s mission. We will have to open them eventually.”

Rhys grabbed Eliane’s hand. “We must hurry.” He pulled her from the room with Madwyn on their heels. The dog followed. The dog would be a problem.

“Where do we go?” Eliane asked. “What is happening?”

“You must trust your husband,” Madwyn said. “You must do as he says.”

They passed William on the stairs and Mathias behind him. He looked ill.

“Your master will soon be at the gate,” Rhys said to William as he pulled Eliane up the curving stone steps. “Do what you can to delay their entrance to the chambers above.”

“Renauld would not dare,” Eliane said. “A Vannoy has never set foot within these halls.”

“One will tonight,” Rhys said. “By order of the king.” They burst through the door of her chamber. Madwyn was still with them and he turned on her as she crossed the room. “Do you intend to watch?”

“Don’t be a fool,” she said. She handed him a crock with a carved lid. “This will ease the way,” she said. She grabbed the dog by the neck once more and hurried him out. “Bar the door,” she added. “I will do what I can without calling the king’s vengeance down upon us.”

Rhys pulled the chain that hung beside the frame over the door. He wondered if it had ever been used. Its only purpose was to protect the occupants in case of an attack. He went to the trunk where Eliane’s weapons lay and picked up the short sword. He should have sent Mathias for his weapons, but there was no time. No time at all.

Eliane stood where he’d left her. Did she not know what she had to do? What he had to do? “Take off your robe and get into bed,” he said gently. He tossed the sword and the crock on the mattress. He pulled off his chainse and loosened his chausses. He dared not strip further. If he had to face Renauld, he would not be vulnerable. There were shouts outside. They drifted through the icy air and rang against the window. Renauld had arrived.

Eliane raised her eyes to him. Her expression was grief-stricken, her eyes wide: confusion, desperation, sadness, despair, and fear all mingled on her face. She was stricken. He felt as if he were going to betray her. He had no choice. “We must hurry.” He yanked the
robe from her body. She did not help him, nor did she fight him. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. She said not a word. He pulled the top sheet away with one hand and dropped her upon it.

He heard another thump, the sound of horses, more shouts, and then a scrambling on the stairs. There was a scratching sound and he reached for the sword. A bark, then a howl.

“Llyr,” she gasped.

Her hair was wild and her eyes, her beautiful emerald eyes turned up to him. A tear coursed down her cheek. Understanding dawned on her face and she lay back and slowly spread her legs. His cock strained forward. He needed no encouragement. He was ready to burst.

God…He had to do it. Even though she was not ready. Rhys stuck his hand in the crock and brought out his fingers covered with a smooth unguent. He placed one hand on her stomach to steady her and found her opening, pushed his covered fingers through her barrier hard enough to break through. A few drops of blood fell to the sheet as he pulled his fingers free. He grabbed her hips, pulled her body close, and plunged inside her in one mighty shove.

She did not say a word, although her face twisted in pain. She kept her eyes upon him, even when the tears came and ran into her hair.

“I am sorry to cause you pain,” he managed to say. She was so tight, but the unguent eased his passage and he was able to move inside her. As soon as he did, he was lost. Somehow he placed her legs around his waist and fell forward, propping himself on his elbows, his legs still on the floor. He wrapped his
hands in her hair. He needed something to hold on to…someone…Eliane closed her eyes and he hated himself. Still, he moved because he could not stop moving, pumping inside her, grinding against her hips, with the pressure building and the dog howling and scratching at the door as if to tear it down. The howling was so loud, Rhys could not hear anything else. The keep could be falling down around their ears and they would not hear it. He could only hope that Han and Madwyn and perhaps Peter were keeping them safe. Then he could not think at all.